he wouldn't take me the only time I've ever been here. But now that
I'm eighteen I can do just as I like; besides, Old Aunt will never
know."

Mr. Sleuth looked down at her, and a smile passed for a moment over
his worn, gaunt face.

"Yes," he said, "let us go into the Chamber of Horrors; that's a
good idea, Miss Bunting. I've always wanted to see the Chamber of
Horrors."

They turned into the great room in which the Napoleonic relics were
then kept, and which led into the curious, vault-like chamber where
waxen effigies of dead criminals stand grouped in wooden docks.

Mrs. Bunting was at once disturbed and relieved to see her husband's
old acquaintance, Mr. Hopkins, in charge of the turnstile admitting
the public to the Chamber of Horrors.

"Well, you are a stranger," the man observed genially. "I do believe
that this is the very first time I've seen you in here, Mrs. Bunting,
since you was married!"

"Yes," she said, "that is so. And this is my husband's daughter,
Daisy; I expect you've heard of her, Mr. Hopkins. And this"--she
hesitated a moment--"is our lodger, Mr. Sleuth."

But Mr. Sleuth frowned and shuffled away. Daisy, leaving her
stepmother's side, joined him.